With grace my mother can you play the harpLike an angel to a saintI feel so lonely the loved falling far from graspDei gratia,Heal the wounds that cut so deepTo never cease feeling such misery, so realTo utter with a lisp, so subtleAb initio ad finemI kiss your foreheadYou clasp to my palmsThe uterus from which gave birthStares withered and sopineHide the cries you so hearStripping you so nakedWipe the sweat from your browWeeping to a given droughtThe shrouding of the lightDeath is your god sendUpon your final breath the skin upon my arm rigoursDeus misereatur de profundis quantum libetTaedium vitae esto perpetua